Year of the oyster

The Earl Spencer, 260-262 Merton Road, SW18 5JL

Meal with lots of wine: £35 per head

One of the most interesting pieces of food writing I have ever read was an interview with Grant Achatz in which he recounted the process of regaining his sense of taste after his  treatment for advanced cancer of the tongue. In addition to being an incredibly inspiring story, I was fascinated by the revelation that he regained his sense of taste in stages that seemed roughly akin to the process of learning to distinguish tastes as a child - beginning, as we all do, with a recognition of sweet things. 

On the cusp of my fourth decade, I am relieved to find that my sense of taste is still constantly evolving; albeit in a more prosaic and less life-changing way. This isn't limited to the serious matters, such as discovering that big hair is back, but extends into eating; where brief periods of obsession drive a long term shift in my preferences. Generally, this process leads to me discovering that I adore something I was previously only indifferent to and, recently, it has seemed like every passing year is marked by a new favourite. In 2009, it was pickles and, to a lesser extent, ale. Last summer was flavoured with grilled lamb's kidneys and a search for increasingly dry ciders. This year, it's oysters and, in particular, bars with oysters.

It was felicitous, therefore, that my friend chose the Earl Spencer for his birthday celebration, because it sells beautiful oysters.  Fresh, salty and plentiful for the price; they are the perfect food to enjoy in a (decidedly gastro-) pub. A preference that began with a martini-fuelled oyster fest in Miami is threatening to overcome my summer's dining. I even find myself wanting to arrange a forthcoming trip to New York around the feisty bivalves.

Even with my new obsession foremost in my mind, I found more than molluscs to enjoy at the Earl Spencer. Their wine list is well-judged, the atmosphere convivial and the steak was perfectly pink and verging on the vast. Slightly embarrassingly, all eight of us had bavette to follow the oysters and some fabulously crispy devilled whitebait, selling out the kitchen in one fell swoop. However, whilst mine was excellent, one was reported as being a little too robustly textured. Even in the midst of my oyster-fuelled mania, I could tell that the clear highlight of the evening was a pint of lightly smoked prawns. Sweet, packed with roe and with just a hint of antiseptic smokiness, they were a delicious tactile treat, which may even trigger a new passion for home smoking. A girl has got to have a project after all.

A great pub is an enduring pleasure that eclipses temporary foodie passions. I am glad that the current trend in posh pub grub encompasses my new-found thing for oysters.  This feeling is enhanced by the fact that communal drinking and raw shellfish work extremely well together; at their best both are slightly macho, sensory experiences with just a hint of well-worn sophistication. The combination is also well regarded in Japan, after all. Who knew that Southfields harboured such a gem?